The Eternal Song of Oblivion
by HeatherRA
Summary: This is an alternative story taking place after the second season of BBC's Robin Hood. Guy of Gisborne tries to forget his past, but will he manage? Can he find forgiveness and relief after all the pain he caused? Please note, I am hopelessly romantic; also, English is not my native language, please forgive me for all errors I might have committed.
1. Thirsty for Oblivion

**1\. Thirsty for Oblivion**

Hell. It was definitely hell. He moaned softly and gripped his half-empty bottle of wine with slippery, sweaty fingers. Those _damned_ musicians just started another merry tune – he was pretty sure it was for nothing else but to mock his pain. He tried to stare them down as offensively as he could, but they did not even notice him. Well, _no one_ gave a shit about him any more. He gulped his remaining wine at once then just stared at his shaking hands with a glassy glance. Blood... He could clearly see the dark red spots on them even if everything else blurred around him. He suddenly felt sick and wanted to jump up from the bench but he found his members heavy and numb. He giddily held himself steady with his elbow on the heavy oak table and bowed his head. He wanted to cry but tears did not, could not come to him. _Never again._

He raised his hanging head and looked around with bloodshot eyes. His glance found the little servant girl running around the tables, so he waved her to come to him at once. He almost lost his balance at the wide movement and had to grip the edge of the table. _Damn_. He knew he was really, truly drunk. In all his life he despised the drunken fools drowning in their miserable, pitiful, petty life. Surely he cannot be compared to them. It was just a few bottles of wine; yes, that was it, the tavern sold him the worst, cheapest, low-grade wine they dared to serve. No wonder he felt sick and dizzy.

„Sir? Sir!"

He realized with a sudden start that the girl had been standing in front of him for a while, calling him to pay attention. She was a pretty lass, with soft, dark brown locks of hair and big, blue eyes. He tried to focus on her even if her kind, innocent face turned to _someone else's_ ...

„ Wine!" he growled. „One more!"

Hell. That was it. Every moment of his ghostly life. He snarled on the thought which came back to him over and over again. _Nothing_ had any meaning any more. He gripped the new bottle and drank desperately, deeply, hoping to find oblivion. But it never came. Even in his most drunken state he could see those begging, unbelieving eyes in the agony of death... Oh god! How effortlessly his sword run through her soft body... Fractures of memories flashed through his mind, without rhyme or reason, her face, the cruel heat of the sun, the agonizing _cry_ what left his ragged throat when he realized what he had done... He drank again although he hardly knew any more where he was.

His hand dropped from the neck of the bottle; he vaguely sensed that the wine was spilled from it. The blood-red pool was slowly growing in front of him, as he watched with sickening terror, trying to cry again, but nothing came, not even a sob, just the terrible coldness, the emptiness inside that was his personal hell. With a final, desperate rage he started to howl like a wounded animal.

The music stopped at once. _Good_. He was dimly aware that he was now lying on the floor – _lying?_ – and hands tried to lift him up. He heard angry shouting around him and attempted to move, but strangely enough he was helpless and sluggish, his heavy eyelids did not want to obey him any more.

„Fetch someone from the castle to take him home!" He started to laugh frantically, madly. _Home?_ There was no home to him any more, except hell. He fell back with a woeful groan and let his consciousness slip far away from him.

* * *

Afraid to move his head, Guy of Gisborne stared at the ceiling of his room. He was not sure what time of the day it was, but from the lights he guessed it was around midday. He was always an early bird, usually woke up before everybody else and went to practise with his sword in the yard until the sun climbed up over the hills. But that was _before_. Now he felt he did not want to leave his bed ever again.

He growled and tried to sit up but the room turned around him. _God!_ He felt miserable. _No wonder, how much you had last night_ , he told himself sourly. He stayed where he was, staring at the empty ceiling. Even the pale half-light hurt him.

Few hazy months passed since they had returned from the Holy Land. He dimly remembered the endless riding. His obsessive nightmares had already begun during their journey. Every night he woke up screaming, bathing in sweat, panting for breath. Every single night he saw the eyes of Marian, when life slowly faded away in them.

The pain was unbearable. He visited every pub and tavern on the way, ignoring all swearing and cursing from Sheriff Vaisey. He wanted to forget – but no oblivion came. And he experienced something he never felt before – regret. But no one left on the world to offer him forgiveness. He has never been particularly religious, now even the thought of asking forgiveness from God scared him. Marian was dead, Robin – _his personal Nemesis_ – craved for sweet revenge. And Vaisey? The only „comfort" the Sheriff offered was to call him a weak, miserable creature. _Maybe, he was exactly that._

„Gisborne!"

 _Heavens_. The irritating roar sent agonizing waves of sharp pain to his head.

„GISBORNE!" _He won't stop until he kills me_. The thought made him snarl. He was about to move when the heavy oak door burst open and Vaisey stormed into his room. The Sheriff was in bad mood, he could tell.

„You miserable, useless, drunken bastard!"

„My lord." His voice was harsh. A flash of anger ran through him and he finally sat up, grabbing the edge of the bed which was dangerously moving below him like a tossing ship on the stormy sea.

The Sheriff stopped at the middle of the room, eyeing him with mad rage.

„What do you think you are doing? You want to stay in bad all day like a sick dog now?"

Guy shrugged. He felt sour taste in his mouth. The Sheriff did not even wait for a reply.

„You have work to do. Get out of the bed, now!"

With a growl, he climbed out from his bed. His whole body ached and his head wanted to explode. He went to the washbowl, turning his back to the Sheriff. He wet his face with shaking hands and tried to stand upright. Even in his deepest despair he did not want Vaisey to see his pain. He changed his shirt and put his black leather jacket on. No need to bother with boots; he slept with them on.

„I want you to go to Locksley and Edwinstowe to collect my taxes. There you are, now. Do not try to stare me down! I have no clue why I still keep you, really. You are nothing but a mess. Gisborne, my dear Gisborne, have I not told you a thousand times that women are _lepers_?" The Sheriff giggled. „Get a hold on yourself, man! Duty awaits."

Guy put on his gloves as he was going. He did not bother to shave or to brush his hair. He, who was always neat and clean, now let his black hair grow in unkempt, disheveled curls. _Who cares?_ He passed next to the guards who stirred uncomfortably at his sight though he barely noticed.

 _Was this castle always so quiet?_ It felt chilly and dark. Without the touch of the hands of an attentive woman, it was certainly an unfriendly place. No fragrant flowers, no colorful tapestry, the smell of old dust lingered on the dimmish corridors. He headed to the stairs of the cellar. Halfway down he had to stop, panting, grasping for air. He laughed bitterly at how weak and sick he was. _Now, let's do something about it_. He quickly picked up a bottle of red wine from the stock then hurried away to fetch some guards to escort him to the villages.

Late evening found Guy in the tavern again. The Trip was a very old pub, its wall was carved into the castle rock itself. He did not even know why or when he got there, or when he sent the guards away, but he was alone, with a fat purse of gold in his pocket. The tavern was half empty when he entered, frightened faces stared at him from the corners. _Good. Let them be afraid of me. I am cursed._ He grinned nastily and went to elbow on the counter. His head was already heavy from the wine he secretly took from the cellar.

„Anything to eat, sir?" asked the girl behind the counter, her voice was slightly trembling. _Oh, she might have not seen the worse of me yet._ He grinned again, then shrugged. He was not hungry at all. Just very thirsty. Thirsty for oblivion.


	2. In Custody

**2\. In Custody**

„What the hell..."

Sir Guy of Gisborne was dragged out from his bed, violently, without any mercy. _God, why cannot they leave him be?_

„You ungrateful, lazy, wretched son of a bitch! Where is my gold?"

He staggered to stand upright. The room was whirling around, all he could do was to get to the washbowl to retch. He heard Vaisey snorting disdainfully behind his back. When he felt slightly better, he straightened up and turned to face the frantic Sheriff.

Vaisey's face was red with anger; he was small and stocky but somehow he managed to show himself significantly bigger now. The Sheriff puffed himself like a rooster and was apparently ready to kill him on spot. Guy could not help but smile. He felt icy coldness in his stomach, strangely calm and comforting. No fear. He had no fear left but resignation.

Vaisey saw his smile and his anger turned to frustration. _Is Guy mocking him? Has he gone mad? That stupid, traitorous wench of him destroyed everything he valued in this man._ He lowered his voice and the question came almost in a threatening whisper.

„Where is my gold, Gisborne?"

„I..." he seemed to recollect his fractured memories. He vaguely remembered some gambler at the tavern. „I... don't have your gold."

„I know, you DAMNED FOOL!" Vaisey was furious. „You've lost it all in that lousy tavern, haven't you? You were there the whole night again, drinking and humiliating yourself among those dirty peasants... What were you thinking? Do you think you can drink yourself to death, you idiot?"

Yes, this was exactly what he was thinking. _Never mind, next time._ The Sheriff continued his tirade ruthlessly. „A clue – no! You live until I decide your fate! Do you understand me? You shall live and pay me back every single coin you stole from me." He spat. „I cannot even stand your miserable sight anymore. You are useless, do you hear me? A drunken fool, that's what remained of you. You have no worth for me anymore. But you mistake me if you think I will hang you now. I will not give that pleasure for you, oh no."

 _Damn._

„You shall stay here in the castle until you sober up for good. Anyway, you'll stay here until you forget all this ridiculous wailing and will be a decent man again."

 _Damn. Damn._

Vaisey eyed him angrily. Then he sighed. „I have already told the guards that you shall stay in custody and cannot leave the castle in no circumstances. Pull yourself together... and do not get in front of my eyes until you stop this nonsense." With these final words he stormed out from the room and banged the door behind him.

Guy was left alone in front of the mirror. He understood nothing. _Where does it lead now? Was he a prisoner?_ He growled but could not take his eyes off his own reflection. His own icy blue glare looked back from the mirror accusingly. _Well, he deserved no better._ He was pathetic, even for a bloody murderer. Sudden pain twitched his stomach again, his rage flamed up with renewed power. He hated the man in the mirror and he could not get rid of him. With an outburst of anger he struck at his reflection and the mirror cracked into thousand pieces. Then he just stared at his blooded hands, panting, howling without a voice.

* * *

He spent his afternoon with wandering around inside the immense castle. Those who got in his way were very quick to stand aside and let him pass. His bloodshed eyes, his pale face frightened all servants. When a foolish servant girl approached him with a plate full of fruits, he knocked it out from her hands but then staggered further blindly. His heart was filled with grief... and terror. The night will come and nightmares will find him again. He will see Marian's eyes again, and he cannot do anything to dumb the horror. _No forgiveness, no oblivion._

Guy was exhausted still terrified from the thought of the coming night. So he endlessly wandered with blank eyes through gloomy rooms, corridors and halls and hoped he would collapse and just die at some point. Sometimes he whispered to himself and then laughed madly, wildly. Without even realizing what he was doing, he took his way to the dungeons.

The dungeons of Notthingham bore the smell of perdition. Wet blight covered the walls, repressed sighs plagued his ear. Strangely, he felt more at home here than upstairs in his quarters. _This is where I belong, this is what I deserve._ He leaned his back to the wall and buried his face in his hands.

Suddenly he thought he heard something strange. Guy snapped up his head and tried to listen. Yes. There it was again. Someone was singing softly. He frowned and moved towards the voice. The place was so dark now he was tripping over his feet.

The singing came from behind a closed door. It was a voice of a girl – quite young, from the sound of it.

 _As I was walking all alane,  
I heard twa corbies making a maen:  
The tane unto the t'ither did say,  
"Whaur shall we gang and dine the day?"_

 _"O doun beside yon auld fail dyke,  
I wot there lies a new-slain knight;  
And naebody kens that he lies there  
But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair._

 _His hound is to the hunting gane,  
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,  
His lady's ta'en another mate,  
Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet"._

Guy dimly recognized the song, it was a folk ballad his nurse was used to sing when he was very little. He descended to sit on the hard floor next to the door, and listened to the crystal clear, sweet, innocent voice. His heart was suddenly filled with piece as if the invisible girl had touched his feverish forehead with cool, soothing hands. His craving for wine and drunken unconsciousness had faded. He sighed with relief but then the song ended and silence descended to the dungeons. _No, please, do not stop_ , he wanted to beg. He caressed the heavy, wooden door with shaking hands. He heard a muffled sob from inside and his heart went out for her. He was not alone in his misery then. There was another soul among these unfriendly walls who suffered.

He recognized the cell then. The other cells, kept for common criminals were protected by a simple iron bar. However, Vaisey had this special room for nobles, spies and other fancy people he wanted to separate from the commoners. This cell had a strong, oak door so no one could see whom it held.

 _Who was this girl? Why was she locked there?_ Guy tried to remember if he had heard anything from the Sheriff regarding a noble prisoner, but nothing came to his confused mind. He listened again, but it was quiet on the other side of the door now. With a grunt he stood up and headed back to his quarters in the northern wing.


	3. Angels Watching

**3\. Angels Watching**

 _He was flying. Flying like a crow above the golden fields of grain. The sky was crystal clear and bright blue, he felt the soft wind ruffling his feathers. Warm sun smiled on him, his heart was light and filled with piece. He wanted to laugh, relieved; he was free._

He opened his eyes in the dark of the room. Last time he dreamt about flying through the lands was when he was a little boy and his parents still lived. He smiled, and there was nothing bitter or cynical in his smile. _That girl and her song_ , he thought in amazement. As if she lifted all the pain from his grieving heart, he could breathe again, he could feel the touch of freedom again.

He faintly could feel some dark thoughts still slinking in the dusty corners but he felt strong enough to refuse to listen. He guessed he had slept for a few hours already. The silver moon shone through the bars of the window with milky light. He smiled again and closed his eyes.

He woke up screaming. He sat straight, grasping his own throat, panting for air. He was drenched with sweat, his heart was beating wildly. Early sun warmed up the room, he looked around with mad glance and shook his head angrily, trying to send away the dark images that filled his sleepy mind.

 _Sooo, it is not so easy to get rid of the nightmares. What was I thinking?_ His hammering heart started to slow down, and he realized the lack of the piercing headache he was so much accustomed to. A sad smile appeared on his pale face.

Guy got out from the bed, washed his face and got dressed. He even found some spirit in him to polish his boots; he was shocked to see how dirty and shabby they became. Then he buckled on his sword and went out to the yard.

The castle of Nottingham was the major fortress of Nottinghamshire. It was imposing and of a complex architectural design, which eventually comprised an upper bailey at the highest point of the castle rock, a middle bailey to the north which contained the main royal apartments, and a larger outer bailey to the east. For decades the castle served as one of the most important in England for nobles and royalty alike. It was in a strategic position due to its location near the crossing of the River Tent, and it was also known as a place of leisure being close to the royal hunting grounds at Tideswell and Barnsdale.

It was springtime; Guy has never realized it before. The sun was still week to warm up the thick walls but its bright rays caressed his tortured body. He blinked in the sudden light. He slowly crossed the yard to approach the Warser Gate but then the guards crossed their lances in front of him. He frowned in frustration.

"I am really sorry, sir, we received a direct order from the Sheriff not to let you out," one of them said. Guy could not miss the wicked smile. He turned away without a comment and went back to the yard. He spent the next coming hours with difficult sword exercises. He could not help but notice how slow his movements became. A half year ago he was young, strong and fast as a predator; he was trained to be a warrior and an assassin in the service of the kingdom. Now he felt old, so old and worn out. He clenched his jaw and continued the training until all his muscles hurt. Guards came and went around, carefully avoiding him. His evil, dark nature was well-known among them.

He was far from satisfied when he finished, but at least it was a start. Guy returned to the castle and headed towards the Great Hall where he found Vaisey leisurely consuming his breakfast. He stopped at the door, hesitating.

"Aaaah, Gisborne!" The Sheriff waved at him invitingly. "Come, join me." He seemed to be in good mood. Guy frowned but obediently sat down on a chair on the opposite side of the table. Big bowls stood on it, filled with fruit, dried cold meat, goat cheese, melted butter and golden loaves. He suddenly realized how hungry he was. He could not even remember when he ate some proper food. The Sheriff also seemed to notice.

"You wear baggy clothes; you lost a lot of weight, dear Gisborne. You must eat something, your strength is needed."

 _Since when has the Sheriff been worried about his appearance?_ He wondered if he should ask something about the mysterious prisoner but then decided to shut his mouth. Instead, he asked, "My lord, you are in very good mood today. Is there any special reason?"

"You have noticed, haven't you?" The Sheriff chuckled contentedly. "A messenger came early today with a note from Price John. He is very much satisfied with our exertions of keeping the order here. Since we returned from the Holy Lands, there is no sign of that devious Robin Hood and his gang. Perhaps he made us a favour and just stayed there, died besides the grave of _his_ precious Marian." He watched Guy's face with evil, hawkish grin. Guy managed not to twitch. Vaisey gripped a cup of red wine and started to walk around. His speech was always accompanied by broad strokes; Guy watched with morbid fascination as the wine wobbled in the goblet. He slowly moved his shaking hands and hid them below the table.

"I have big plans now, Gisborne. Nothing shall stop me now."

* * *

The late evening found him again in front of the locked cell door. He had no clue how he got there; his traitorous legs went on their own. He sat down next to the door and leaned his back to the cold stones. He felt slightly feverish; red spots were burning on his pale cheek. He craved for… _what? Understanding? Comfort? A voice free from cruel mockery?_ He neither knew nor cared.

The prisoner with the beautiful voice was silent. Guy felt disappointed; he was reluctant to go to sleep without _his_ song. Surely, the voice sang _for him_. He laughed silently. Apparently the girl had no idea anyone was listening. _And yet_ … Guy squirmed restlessly. Then with a sudden decision he hesitantly knocked on the door. Once.

It seemed to him that he heard a frightened grasp from behind the door. He waited patiently but no other sound came from the cell. _I must be mad._ He knocked again.

"Who is there?" The voice of the girl was just as sweet as her song. She did not sound frightened, however her voice slightly trembled.

Guy bit his lip. He was not prepared for a conversation. He more imagined than heard that the girl came closer to the door. He closed his burning eyes.

"Please…" he whispered, being surprised how hoarse his voice was. "Please. I heard you singing yesterday. Sing for me."

Somebody gently stroked the door from inside. _Or was it only his imagination again?_

"I…" the girl seemed to hesitate. "I am sorry, I did not know anyone had heard my song, I… I didn't want to disturb you." Her gentle voice was musical, educated.

"Please forgive me. You did not disturb me at all, I just want to hear you again."

 _Now I am making a bigger fool from myself than I was before_ , thought Guy with a bitter smile.

There was a light sigh behind the door.

"All right, then. What do you wish to hear?"

Guy bowed his head, looked at this trembling hands. He desperately wanted a drink.

"A lullaby. For me."

There was a little, amazed silence. Then she started to sing on her sweet, clear voice.

 _All night, all day, angels watching over me my Lord_ _  
_ _All night, all day angels watching over me._ _  
_ _When at night I go to sleep_ _  
_ _Angels watching over me my Lord_ _  
_ _Pray the Lord my soul to keep_ _  
_ _Angels watching over me._ _  
_ _All night, all day, angels watching over me, my Lord_ _  
_ _All night, all day, angels watching over me._


	4. Who Are You?

**4\. Who are you?**

On the next day Guy was ready to confront the Sheriff. He found Vaisey in the Map Room of the Southern Wing, his chin resting in his palm, mulling over his strategy map. The light of the tallow candles glinted on his almost bald head. He was crooning to himself – _pom-pom-popom_ \- , then he looked up when he saw Gisborne entering and welcomed him with a wide, jovial smile.

"You look better, Gisborne, I can recognize practising with the sword does you good. You will see, one day you will be grateful for your… minor discomfort."

Guy was amazed. He was practically a prisoner in the castle and Vaisey called it "minor discomfort"? But he had to admit, he felt better. He face was shaven, his hair and body washed clean. Although there were several dark circles under his eyes and his face was puffed from the months of sleepless nights spent with heavy drinking, he rested well during the last night.

He shrugged. What could he possibly say? _An angel sang for me…_ He cleared his throat but the Sheriff apparently did not expect a reply.

"I told you not to mourn that ungrateful wench. She was nothing but nuisance."

There he was again. Smiling at him, praising with one word, kicking with the other. He clenched his teeth and showed no emotion. _I am your obedient dog, my lord._

"My lord. I attempt to find my piece."

"The sooner the better, Gisborne." The Sheriff of Nottingham seemed to be satisfy with the reply.

Guy turned his back to him and looked out the slim window. The air was clear and bright, the Map Room was one of the highest spots in the castle, it had a perfect view to the town of Nottingham. It was market day; big carts were lined in front of the Carter Gate loaded with coal, wood, food, ale and spices. Traffic moved slowly, mainly because of the toll at the gates.

"May I enquire if you keep any special prisoner in the cells below, my lord?" he asked on a carefully casual voice, turning back his head. The Sheriff flashed a cold smile at him.

"Oh, a little bird, indeed. It is a harrowing story. You see, there was the Earl of Strelley, a good friend of mine. He died recently, oh, such a tragic accident it was. He was impaled by a wild boar on his hunting trip." There was not a drop of compassion in his voice. "He had been a widower for a while but he had a young daughter, Lady Heather. After his death Prince John has placed the girl under my guardianship. You see, Gisborne," he continued, while thoughtfully tapping his teeth with a fingernail, "the rights of wardship were instituted to protect the heir from unscrupulous relatives who might wish to gain control of the property, and the earldom of Strelley is a wealthy, flowering land. The girl could not have managed alone. She must be protected by our laws. So she came to me, arrived a couple of days ago. I think you were… indisposed at the time of her arrival."

Guy tried to remember about any mention of a noble guest who arrived recently, but could not recall anything.

"Then what happened? Why did you jail her?"

"Oh, Gisborne, there is no need for such hard words. I did not jail her… I merely help her to reconsider. You see, I offered her the bond of marriage, to make sure she will be duly protected."

Guy suddenly turned around, raising his eyebrows.

"What? You proposed to her?"

The Sheriff giggled. "Don't be silly, I can't stand women. Nevertheless, I came to an agreement with the Lord of Barnsdale, Sir Roderick, which would be fruitful for both of us. He takes the girl and her income from the earldom, but as her guardian, I will get the mining rights of Strelley, those mines are very rich in iron dykes."

It was a splendid scheme, Guy could see it. Iron was essential for the blacksmiths, to forge enough weapons for the ongoing war.

"Unfortunately," continued Vaisey, " Lady Heather is very obstinate. She refused my offer made in good intentions and said that she did not want to get married. What a nonsense!"

"So you locked her up?"

"For her own good. She has all the comfort, she is not in a need of anything. Surely she will change her mind soon."

"I see. How old is she?"

"She will turn to sixteen on May Day so that is when the marriage will take place."

This was the secret of the mysterious prisoner then. Guy let out a silent sigh.

"My lord, I wish to visit the market today. I intend to arrange my debts towards you."

The Sheriff voice suddenly sparked with suspicion, he narrowed his eyes.

"All right then, but you shall need a retinue. Guards!" Two guards emerged from the corridor. "You are to escort Sir Guy to the market. Bring him back before sundown."

"Good day, my lord." Guy left the Map Room and headed towards the gates with the two guards in his tow. He could not say why he was so annoyed. The girl was nothing to him; actually he has never even seen her face. While he passed through the Warser Gate – this time without hindrance – he adjusted his gloves.

He took his way towards the Castle Lane. He passed the St. Nicholas church and turned to the left towards the Corne Market. He could hear the lowing and bleating of the cattle from the distance. Nottingham's market was the centre of life on these days. The shops were built in rows, most of them named after the goods offered for sale. There was a Garlick Row, a Bookseller's Row, a Cook Row. Every trade was represented, together with taverns and earing-houses.

"Ribs of beef and many a pie!" he heard someone call over his shoulder. Turning, he saw a young lad walking through the crowd bearing a tray laden with wooden bowls of cooked meats from a local shop. All around him people were moving, gesturing, talking. Men in knee-length brown tunics were driving their cattle before them. On the left a cart stood, loaded with crates of chickens. In the next street wealthy merchants offered their goods, dressed in long gowns with high collars and beaver-fur hats.

He entered a small shop of a jeweler, and pulled a necklace from his pocket. It was a nice piece of silver jewelry, from his mother's legacy. The merchant examined it carefully then offered three hundred pounds for it. That was sufficient; he owned two hundred to the Sheriff for what he lost on gambling – _or probably the gold was just simply stolen from me_ , he thought. He could not rely on his fragmentary memories.

With the gold safely hidden in his purse, he left the shop. On his left side a young lad was crouching on the cobblestones. _A beggar, no doubt._ He suddenly stopped and stared at the boy with narrowed eyes. The lad had a kind, intelligent face, framed with light brown curls. He looked up at Guy without any fear.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Tom, my lord." He had a pleasant, young voice.

"Are you an orphan?"

"Yes, my lord. My parents died in last winter and I could not keep the farm alone. Apologies, my lord, if my presence has offended you in any way." _He had some manners._

"Tom… you come with me. I need someone to take care of my… things."

The boy's face lit up. He jumped to his feet and bowed.

"Master. You will not be disappointed in me."

Guy himself was taken aback from his sudden idea.

"If I catch you to steel from me or to make harm for me at any way, you will be hanged, am I clear? And you must keep your mouth shut. I detest gossips."

"Why should I do such an evil thing, master? You just gave me a job." The boy's young voice was full with reliance. He could not have been more than twelve.

Guy nodded.

"All right, Tom. Follow me."

* * *

After he settled the inconvenient debt with the Sheriff and accommodated Tom at the servants' quarter, he spent the afternoon on the yard, practising again. He felt the need to return to his daily routines; meanwhile he tried to ignore that the servants and guards alike eyed him with distrust. There were a lot of gossips all around him, he was very much aware of it, but no one knew anything of value. His secret mission to the Holy Land remained well hidden, they only knew that his grumpy nature became even more unbearable since he had returned. A few more years and no one will remember Lady Marian. _Marian._ The name tore into his heart.

He set his sword aside in discouragement, his haunted soul urged him towards the dungeons. When he stopped in front of the thick oak door, he knocked on it quietly.

"I am glad you are back," said the sweet voice. Guy frowned.

"Why?"

"I am lonely. My only companion was you during these past days, my friend, although you are not too talkative." _Was she smiling?_ "Tell me, do you enjoy my songs?"

"Yes," Guy whispered. "Very much. They ease my soul." Feeling that he already told too much, he hesitated. "Will you sing for me tonight?"

Now he was sure she smiled. He could feel the girl came closer to the door. How strange! They were only a foot apart, but never saw each other. He took of his gloves and stroked the door with his hands. He imagined the girl, standing on the other side, a fair, tall maid with beautiful face and slender figure. _A fragile flower, indeed, she deserved her name._

"But then I must challenge you, my friend," the girl continued. "I will sing for you… if you tell me your name. My name is Heather of Strelley. Who are you?"

Guy gasped. He could have expected the question from the first moment they had talked. Yet now he felt a sudden, icy fear. He knew well what fame he had. If the girl had ever heard about it, she would never talk to him again. He bit his lips in silent desperation.

"Well?" demanded Heather.

"My name is… Robin."


	5. I Will Find You

**5\. I Will Find You**

Once he uttered the name he immediately wanted to withdraw it. _What on earth was he thinking? How could he be so mindless to provide the cursed name of his mortal enemy?_ But he had no time to think. Heather grasped with surprise.

"Robin? Robin HOOD? The saviour of people, the hero of Nottingham? That Robin?"

There was no way back.

"Yes," he whispered huskily. "But please, keep it quiet, otherwise I must leave now."

"Oh no, please, do not leave me." That sweet voice was full with joyful excitement. Guy leaned his burning face to the stone wall.

"I had a dream about you," continued the girl hurriedly, in order to keep him leaving. "We were walking on a summer field, just you and me. The air was full of sweet fragrances, and I felt so happy as never before. I could not see your face clearly, but you were gentle and attentive. I wonder how you look like." _Well._ "You must be very tall and broad-shouldered, and your eyes are dark blue, always sad but very kind."

Guy was mesmerized by her soft voice. _A very fascinating imagination, indeed._

"There is no need to magnify my deeds or to attribute more good qualities to me than I possess, but thank you, my Lady," he managed. He could only hope that the trembling of his voice was not heard through the thick door.

"I beg you, my friend, tell me your story. How did you become an outlaw? Is it true that you fought in the Holy Land, that you were the member of the royal guard of His Majesty?" Her voice suddenly became very sorrowful and full of compassion. " Is it true that your true love was killed by the evil dark knight, the assassin of Sheriff Vaisey, that Guy of Gisborne?"

The sharp pain was like a knife in his heart. He could not utter a simple word, the world went black around him. _So she knew._ _He was doomed._ The girl seemed to sense his agony because she whispered hastily.

"Please, forgive me. I did not mean tearing your wounds."

"It is all true," Guy heard his own, bitter voice. His heart became as heavy as a stone. _I_ _should never tell her the truth._

Heather listened. She regretted her hasty words now but did not know how to comfort him. "Will you tell me about your time in the Holy Land? I am so lonely here, your story would be very welcomed, Robin."

And Guy obeyed her request.

* * *

The days had passed almost unnoticed. Guy spent a lot of time with training, he wanted to gain back his old, springy lightness. Though he did not realize, his face lost its puffiness, his eyes regained their glacial, piercing glance. The Sheriff had released him from custody after a time, but he had no wish to visit the town. Whenever he was not on an errand for Vaisey, he sat in the library. When he discovered that Tom had known how to write his name, he decided to educate him. The boy was ignorant but nimble.

Guy took him to the stables and taught him how to deal with horses. Tom learned how to groom his big, black stallion, then it became his daily task to look after him. The stallion gratefully accepted the long-lacked pampering. Tom brushed his mane and tail with a curry, cleaned his hooves and provided him with delicious snacks. He also learned how to saddle and harness the horse and was endlessly begging Guy to teach him to ride. When he was not occupied with his daily tasks, he faithfully followed his new master where ever he went. The Sheriff called him a little pup, but Tom did not seem to mind.

Since Guy had started to care about his estates again, they began to flourish and prosper. Although he felt ambition for wealth and power no longer, he gained some income from his lands. When it was time for sowing, he distributed some seed corns among his peasants. _The Holy Land has addled your brain_ , commented Vaisey but he let him do whatever pleased him.

His nights belonged to Heather. He told her all the stories he could recall about the life of Robin Hood; how he went to fight to the Holy Land and swore to protect his King – it took a bit of an imagination -, how he returned to find out that his estate had been stolen from him, how he became an outlaw because he could not have tolerated injustice. He even invented adventures about how he managed to slip into the castle each night to visit her cell. Heather never mentioned again the name of Marian, and he was grateful for it. He told her about the warm sunshine and that the migratory birds had returned. Thanks to her endless questions, he invested more interest in the castle life, just to be able to tell her about the new kitten of the cook's daughter or the forthcoming archery competition. He has become accustomed not to listen to the rumours behind his back, now he was eager to collect all gossips and share them with his new – and only – friend. In return Heather told him about her herb garden she tended at Strelley. She spoke of her beloved mother, who was beautiful but quiet and fragile, then she died from consumption on an especially cold and cruel winter. She shared with him all the grief and sorrow she felt; then she told him about her irascible father who cared about nothing but warfare and hunting.

They never spoke about anything else than friendship. But in these intimate, quiet conversations Heather's quiet stories and sweet songs somehow found their way to warm his frozen, betrayed heart.

On a warm spring evening Guy started to worry. It seemed to him that Heather's voice had lost its luster, as if she had been weaker than before.

"You should not care about it," the girl told him. "It is nothing, just a passing weakness. The Sheriff cannot break me so he decided to keep me on bread and water."

Guy's heart sank.

"My lady, this cannot be tolerated. If you are ill..."

"Do not worry, my friend, you can't help it," said Heather with a ghostly smile. "The Sheriff has high ambitions and he already sunken his teeth into the idea of getting benefits from my marriage."

"But surely, there must be a solution. You are the only heir of an earl, kept in a dungeon like a common criminal."

"The Sheriff would never let me go unless I agree to marry."

"Then agree. You must get out of here. Once you are free again, I shall find a way to save you." Guy was desperate, his words rang falsely to his ears. _How could I do anything for her? I cannot even save myself..._ He tried to bring more conviction into his voice. "You must agree, Heather. Let him win. There is no other way. I... I cannot bear the thought of loosing you."

Heather was silent for a while, but he thought he could hear her breathing on the other side.

"All right," she said finally. "Is this the last time we speak then, Robin? Will I ever see you?"

Guy sighed. _Must I really add another lie to the growing list just to arouse false hopes in her?_ Now he was glad he did not have to look at the eyes of the girl.

"Yes, this is a goodbye. For now. But I will find you. I promise."


	6. How To Deal with Unruly Lasses

**6\. How To Deal With Unruly Lasses**

„The Sheriff wants to see you," Tom announced.

Since morning Guy had dreaded this moment. He tried to distract his attention by riding out, but found little pleasure in it. He had sent Tom to spy upon the Sheriff, hoping to hear news about the fate of Heather. Thus he managed to learn that the girl was brought up from the dungeon cell after having a private conversation with Vaisey. She was given an accommodation in the Bower of the southern wing but Tom failed to lay his eyes upon her.

Guy adjusted the long, tight sleeves of his deep burgundy shirt then put on his black leather jacket and fastened it with his belt. He found the Sheriff in the Great Hall sitting in an armchair beside the fireplace. One glance at his face and Guy immediately bowed his head.

„Gisborne. Let me introduce you to our most noble and precious guest, the Lady Heather of Strelley. My lady, this is my Man at Arms, Sir Guy of Gisborne."

Guy tensed and slowly straightened. He lifted his glance to look at the young woman standing next to the Sheriff. The first thing he realized in shock was her gorgeous, luxurious hair that shone in the brightest colour of deep red. She was not the fair, fragile maid of his dreams, but her features were breathtakingly beautiful. She was slim, oh so slender and pale. And her eyes... they were the grey of the last ashes on a fire, tossed up on the breeze; the grey of a pigeon's wing, soft as down; the grey of the ocean an instant before dawn's first rays strike the water. Those eyes observed him briefly then turned away from him, repressed anger flashed in them.

„Lady Heather, please accept my deepest condolences upon your recent loss."

„Thank you, Sir Guy." No recognition lingered in her voice.

The Sheriff's mouth twitched and Guy was pretty sure he was fighting a sneer.

„Lady Heather shall enjoy our company for a few days before she is to be escorted to her future husband's stronghold. On this remarkable occasion I have decided to announce an archer's contest for Saturday. It will be open to all comers and the prize is fifty pounds for the winner."

„A splendid idea, my lord," Guy replied. „I am sure it will be a fitting entertainment for our honoured guest." _She did not recognize my voice._ He could not decide if he felt relief or frustration.

„There is no need to make arrangements for my entertainment," Heather declared. She folded her arms in a semi-defiant manner. „I am still no more than a prisoner in Nottingham and I wish to abide here as little as possible."

The Sheriff tsked.

„Aw, nonsense. My lady, I admit that our relationship did not begin under the best circumstances but I can assure you we will do the best of our ability to show excellent hospitality and tackle this scourge." He turned his head towards Guy with a mischievous grin. „If the Hood is back to Nottinghamshire, this is our best chance to lure him out from his hideouts. He surely would not miss such a golden opportunity to flaunt his abilities."

This statement seemed to revive the girl's interest.

„Are you talking about the legendary Robin Hood?"

„Robin Hood is no more than a common criminal. Robin Hood defies my authority, undermines the law of England. He is a bane of this country and it is our duty to exterminate the root and ground of this pest." Vaisey got to his feet with a grunt. „Let us not waste any more words on him. Follow me to the yard. I wish to make this announcement to the good people of Nottingham."

The courtyard of the castle was in a flurry of activity. The guards trumpeted when the Sheriff stepped out of the door, followed by Sir Guy and Lady Heather. Various craftsmen worked in the inner yard, lancers and swordsmen drilled in front of the castle garrison, servants hurried in every direction to perform their duties, cooks shouted after their assistants angrily, a maid swept the lower stairs. Tom slipped from the stone railing and stood behind his master's back.

The Sheriff raised his arms to the sky and addressed the crowd.

„People of Nottingham! Lords and ladies, my good fellow servants and everyone who gathered here on this pleasant day! Surprise! I give you the Lady Heather of Strelley, to read out our invitation for a Fair Day."

He handed over a rolled parchment to Heather who reluctantly accepted it. Guy could not take his eyes off her but moved away to let her step on the top of the stairs. He wished he could read her emotions. The girl lowered her eyes when passing next to him. Her soft lips twitched as if she wanted to make a comment but then they thinned to a straight line and she proceeded without a word. He could not blame her for it. Guy of Gisborne was a stranger to her, a despised man with dubious reputation and what's more, he was the one who destroyed everything Robin Hood held dear in his life.

Heather unfolded the parchment and looked at it briefly, then lowered her hand and carried around her eyes.

„Good people of Nottingham!" she began on a clear, ringing voice. „It is my great pleasure to proclaim that by the mercy of God and Richard, His Majesty, King of England, the Sheriff will hold a Fair Day on this Saturday. An archery contest has been announced which is open to all comers. The prize is fifty pounds for the winner."

The Sheriff glanced to Guy triumphantly and bent to whisper to his ears, „Unlike you, Gisborne, _at least I_ know how to deal with unruly lasses."

Heather continued, „I am sure all of you are hungry for a decent excitement; but your thirst shall be satisfied as well. Thus, a feast will follow and on this merry occasion free ale will be distributed among the people." Her last statement was accepted by a loud cheering.

„WHAT?" the infuriated voice of the Sheriff remained unheard in the noisy celebration. Guy quickly turned away to hide his grin. Heather was smiling as well, her warm, sincere smile was the ray of sunshine. He often remembered this first smile later. It was like the sun opened its eager light to shine about her.

The Sheriff was choking with rage, and could hardly get a word out. Guy leaned jauntily towards him and remarked, „Put a calm face on, my lord. It cannot be helped now."

Vaisey finally found his voice once more. „You are not so useless when it comes to teasing me, aren't you?" he hissed angrily. He turned on his heels and pushed Guy aside to storm away.

Guy stayed alone with Heather on the top of the stairs. When the girl turned towards him, her smile faded to a more distant and cold expression. Guy was at least a head taller than her so she lifted her chin to meet his gaze. For a moment they stood in silence, studying each other's face. Then Heather shifted.

„Please tell me where I would find your chapel, Sir Guy. I wish to pray."

„Let me escort you to the chapel. This castle is immense, it is easy to get lost in it," he offered.

Her full lips stretched into a polite smile but it did not quite reach her eyes.

„No need for an escort. I can assure you I am perfectly able to find my way." She was as honest and straightforward as Guy had known her. _And his company was clearly unwanted._ He sank his piercing gaze into her eyes. She looked at him like the fire in her eyes has been dowsed with ice water.

„Have I offended you in some way, my lady?" he asked quietly. It was an utterly unnecessary question as he knew the truth very well. His friend, _his_ little Heather was gone – this beautiful, young woman shared no common feeling with him. As a matter of fact, she had every right to _hate_ him.

Her chins turned pink but she held her ground.

„I do not wish to talk about it, Sir Guy. I merely need to be left alone." She bit her lips in slight embarrassment. „Please, do not expect me to accept your sympathy or friendship. I yearn for solitude."

„I understand," Guy replied with a heavy sigh. His throat tightened from the sense of loss. He accurately set her on the way to the chapel then watched her go with an aching heart.

* * *

„Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..." The words of the prayer rolled automatically from her lips but her mind wandered elsewhere. The chapel of the castle was small and simple. The quiet air was tinctured with the scent of incense, candles and the more solid smell of musty books. Her prayer brought no absolution for her.

A diffuse bluish light was beaming through the single stained glass window. Heather was on her knees on the cold stone floor in front of the altar. The air was still and the flame of the candles barely flickered. Their glow cast warm, soft light on her sad face.

 _Robin, where are you?,_ she wanted to cry. _I am in a desperate need of a friend. Will I see you on the Fair Day? Will you come to my aid?_ She hoped with all her heart that he would keep his promise.


	7. The Archery Contest

**7\. The Archery Contest**

On the following days Guy had seen no sign of Heather. He had found a decent servant maid whom he ordered to perform all necessary assistance she might have required. A word was sent him shortly to express her gratitude for his kindness, but otherwise the girl settled firmly in her chambers and any further attempt to seek her companionship was wrecked.

The life stirred up in the castle. The usual, dispirited mood of the people had been melted out of the air and was replaced by preparations for the Fair Day. The fields were no longer swathes of rutted mud, each one was softly verdant, the new stems ruffled by the light breeze. The air had more warmth and more fragrance.

The hustle and bustle became fever-high on the very day of the Fair. A great crowd had assembled in the town of Nottingham. All the populace of the surrounding country were gathered there in eager expectancy. Peddlars had arrived from the countryside to trade their goods, accompanied by minstrels, jesters, fire-eaters, fortune tellers and other entertainers. Stalls crumbling with various goods were lined up on the market place. Those unable to afford a stall sold their items from baskets, or spread cloths on the ground to display their wares.

Guy forced his way through the bustling crowd, with Tom in his heels. He headed for the dais in the middle of courtyard. The central chair on it was occupied by the conceited Sheriff Vaisey who regarded the preparations proudly in his newly made outfit. Silver laced, black fur tippet covered his shoulders and a beaver-fur hat adorned his bald head. Next to him sat the fat Bishop of Hereford, while on the other side a young woman was seated whose sad and solemn face caused Guy's heart to leap. Her wavy, crimson hair was long and loose, it laid on her shoulders like a waterfall flowing mildly; flaming as bright as a sunrise. She wore a simple, dark-blue gown, its edge was delicately embroidered with pale, golden flowers, its belt was fastened with an ornamented bronze buckle.

When Guy reached them, he bowed his head then took his place standing behind the Sheriff's chair to watch the cheerful crowd with arms folded.

"How charming, eh, your Lordship?" observed the Sheriff turning to the Bishop. "All these merry faces. A fitting entertainment humbles even the most rebellious spirit. Give a little thrill to these layabouts and all lamentation will be forgotten." The Bishop grunted in response, his fingers richly adorned with rings were drumming on the balustrade of the chair impatiently.

The trumpets sounded, and the crowd became silent while the herald announced the terms of the contest. The first target was to be placed at thirty ells distance, and all those who hit its centre were allowed to shoot at the second target, placed ten ells farther off. The third target was to be removed yet farther, until the winner was proved.

Guy bent down to the Sheriff's ear.

"Do you really believe, my lord, that Robin Hood will fall for this trick?"

His words were quiet but Heather heard them anyway. Two red spots burned in her pale cheeks. Vaisey snorted disdainfully.

"We will win either way. I have made all the necessary arrangements to catch him if he dares to show his face. But if he does not make an appearance, well, then we will know where we stand. But now... it is showtime!

The trumpet sounded again, and the archers prepared to shoot. Twelve men stepped forth in a line. Guy saw the Sheriff's man watched their faces in diligence. As the first man shot, the crowd grew silent. The target was not so far but that eight out of the twelve contestants reached its inner circle. The mob cheered and yelled themselves hoarse at this even marksmanship. The trumpet sounded again, and a new target was set up at forty ells.

The Sheriff smiled sourly, the Bishop of Hereford spectacularly yawned out of boredom. The first three archers again struck true, amid the loud applause of the onlookers; for they were general favourites and expected to win. The fourth and fifth archers barely grazed the centre. The last one fitted his arrow quietly and with some confidence sped it unerringly toward the shining circle. His shaft was nearer the centre than any of the others. Vaisey narrowed his eyes and straightened up in his chair, trying to see the face of the last archer more clearly. Heather leaned forward anxiously.

Again the crowd cheered wildly. Such shooting as this was not seen every day in Nottingham town. The other archers in this round were disconcerted by the preceding shots, or unable to keep the pace. They missed one after another and dropped moodily back, while the trumpet sounded for the third round, and the target was set up fifty ells distant. Only two archers remained.

The first aimed and released his winged arrow, but while it was a fair shot it did not more than graze the inner circle. A handful of wind frolicked across the range in a way quite disturbing to a bowman's nerves. The last archer drew his bow with ease and grace and launched his arrow straight across the range to the centre of the target. A loud uproar broke forth.

When the noise of the celebration silenced, the herald summoned the winner to the dais to receive the prize.

"Do you know him, Gisborne?" asked the Sheriff suspiciously. Heather was listening intently, Guy saw. He smiled despite himself.

"He is the captain of my men, my lord, Roger the One-Eared."

"You shoot well," said the Sheriff sourly to the winner whose sly face was beaming with pride. "You are awarded the prize." The herald nudged the captain to stand before the Heather. Vaisey generously waved a hand. The girl rose gracefully and handed over a purse. The crowd cheered again.

Heather glanced to the Sheriff.

"If you'll excuse me, my lord, I wish to examine the stalls." When Vaisey motioned her mindlessly, she collected her skirts and hurried away. She paused for a moment to survey the flamboyant scene, then headed toward the draper's stalls. She felt she was drowning in the presence of the Sheriff and she could not hide her disappointment any longer. Robin did not show up to be her saviour. _Perhaps he was prevented from coming in some way_ , she thought. _He promised to find me. He promised_.

She stroked the displayed fabrics absentmindedly.

"Looking for something, my lady?"

She almost jumped. Guy smiled down at her on such a gentle manner that despite every distaste she felt for him she returned the smile.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you."

She slowly shook her head.

"No need for apologies, Sir Guy. I was merely too lost in thoughts."

"Does the arrangements of your chambers meet your requirements? Are you in need of anything else?" His concern sounded sincere.

"Thank you, Sir Guy, I am very well provided." _What do you want from me?_ , she wanted to ask. "Why did you not take part in the archery contest?"

 _I did not want to leave your side._

"I am not very skilled in archery, my lady. Sword fight fits me better," he lied. He seemed to hesitate briefly than pulled something from behind his back.

"Please, accept this simple gift from me. Late evenings are still quite chilly."

Heather looked down at the scarf in his hands. It was beautifully made, of soft, dark blue silk, the colour was fitting to her gown.

"No need for gifts between us, Sir Guy. I cannot accept it, I am truly sorry."

Guy winced, even though he had expected her refusal. He lowered his eyes, deliberately avoiding her bright gaze. His voice was very quiet.

"I have no intention of insulting you in any way. Please, forgive me, I am not a man of words, I might not have expressed myself clearly. I understand you think very little of me, even if I did not give any good reason for it. Is there no hope of a reconciliation?" He glanced up, to search for the signs of relenting on her face. Heather seemed to hesitate. "Accept it as a piece offer between us," he continued hastily. "A truce, if it pleases you."

Heather was stricken aback by the sincerity in his voice. Their eyes locked. His straight look was like a lake of frozen emotions, crystal clear blue. A shiver ran down her spine and she wondered how could such a heartless villain hide behind his engaging face.

"Very well." She reached for the scarf. "A truce, then. You shall have the chance to prove your... honesty."

Guy looked after her for a long time as she had disappeared in the swirling crowd.


	8. The Rose and Crown

**8\. The Rose and Crown**

"You are to escort the little bird to the fortress of Barnsdale. Gisborne. Be prepared to leave without delay." The Sheriff absentmindedly patted his cheek before Guy could pull his head away. "Be careful, my friend, do not fall for the innocent, sweet face, the girl is very astute. I will not have you wandering around like a lovestruck lunatic again."

Guy stiffened and clenched his jaw in anger.

"My lord, I can assure my attentions are… elsewhere. Such intensity in a woman is not entirely to my tastes."

"Bunkum, Gisborne," the Sheriff mumbled. "I've seen more spirit on cheese. The sooner we will have her married the better. See to it, Gisborne."

"I shall take six men from the garrison." Guy bowed his head briefly then left the room.

* * *

Half an hour later he knocked on the door of Heather's chambers. The young woman had been already dressed for the journey. She chose a simple but lovely, olive green costume. A white cloak trimmed with arctic fox fur covered her slender shoulders. Guy motioned Tom to carry her trunk.

On the courtyard stood the light wagon. Tom comfortably seated himself in the box of it while the trunk was loaded in the back. Guy moved forward to help Heather in but she stopped and gripped his arm.

"I prefer to ride, Sir Guy," she suggested. "Let the wagon follow us."

He nodded with a tight smile and entered the stables. The smell of manure lingered thickly over the more subtle scent of last year's straw. Guy choose a smaller, calm, chestnut mare for her. The horse stolidly endured the saddling. Then he grabbed the reins and led her out.

Heather cried out in joy and rubbed her cheek against the mare's velvety muzzle, then stepped to the mounting block. As she settled herself on the horse's back, Guy mounted his tall, black stallion and gave a sign to the guards to proceed.

Heather was a good rider, she possessed a graceful posture in the saddle. Shortly they left the castle of Nottingham behind their backs. They turned to left sharply to cross the Hethbeth Bridge across the River Trent. Both of them rode in silence. In a little while they reached the edge of the forest. The sweet surrendering scent of the morning dew filled the air. The trees budded with leaf and blossom, the increasing light cast a warm halo over the huge oaks. In different circumstances Guy could have enjoyed the journey, but now he was confused and concerned. From time to time he glanced furtively at the girl riding quietly. He noticed how her gaze was wandering around with hope. He admitted to himself that he also had expected an ambush. _Robin must be thirsty for revenge_ , he thought gloomy. _And I deserve to die._ The small group was an easy prey for the outcasts. But no attack came; the forest kept its secrets.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by the soft voice of Heather.

"What kind of man is Sir Roderick? Is he a man of honour? Will he have a kind heart toward me?"

Guy searched his mind for an answer. He remembered the knight once visiting for a hunt, broad-shouldered and muscled, with a shaggy beard and a booming voice. He also recalled his quite violent and fierce nature.

"He is a renowned warrior, my lady," he replied warily. "He is a champion of many tournaments. His fortune is secure, he can provide for you."

Heather pursed her full lips; she was not pleased with the response.

"And Robin? Robin Hood? What qualities does he possess?" she asked suddenly. "I know you and him are enemies, but surely you must have some recognition of his ways. I heard he was a nobleman before he became an outlaw."

Guy silently cursed her curiosity.

"He earned little respect by undermining authority," he replied. "He chose to be an outcast instead of taking care of the well-being of his people. And... the fire got extinguished within his soul since he had lost his... betrothed. His fight became meaningless." He was not sure any more about whom he talked... Robin or himself. _What kind of man am I?_ Once he yearned for power and wealth, now his whole soul shuddered at the crimes he committed in the name of his ambitions.

Heather looked dispirited. She goaded her horse further on the road and did not speak any more.

* * *

By the evening they reached the village of Blyth.

"We shall rest here for the night," Guy announced and pointed to a weathered sign hanging over a stone gate which read, The Rose and Crown. He dismounted his horse and turned to help Heather. She accepted the hand he offered and smoothly slid from the saddle. They led their horses to the innyard. Tom jumped to make use of himself, he had already started to unfasten the girths. Guy nodded approvingly and headed towards the front door. Heather patted the neck of her mare lovingly, then followed him inside.

"It is a clean place and the roof does not leak," observed Guy. Heather silently nodded. She must have been weary from the whole day's ride but she did not complain. The innkeeper was a fat, balding, middle-aged man, who jumped, startled as they came through the door.

"Bless my soul," he exclaimed. "I did not hear your wagon coming, my lord, my lady. My name is Jerome."

"The wagon is behind us some miles," Guy said. "We rode and have stabled our horses ourselves. We shall need rooms for the lady, myself and my six men."

The innkeeper shook his head. "I am sorry, my lord, I can provide you with two good rooms but I am afraid, your men must be accommodated in the stables. Nevertheless, I am happy to serve you with a most ample supper if you do not mind that the service is slow. My wife has passed away a year ago. It is just my daughter Lizzie and me."

Heather looked around her. The inn was small but immaculately clean. There was a lovely fire burning in the big fireplace that took up almost an entire wall, and the tables were well-scrubbed. A large old black and white dog lay sprawled by the fire snorting. She smiled.

"We shall stay here for the night," she said.

"Show us our chambers, Master Jerome, then serve our supper here by the fire when you are ready," Guy ordered the innkeeper. He took off his gloves.

"Very well, my lord," he replied and then moved to help them with their cloaks.

Shortly, they were comfortable seated at the wooden table by the fireplace. Master Jerome returned with two large pewter mugs filled with foamy brown ale which he gave them along with a plate of bread and cheese.

"This will ease your appetite until supper," he said and then hurried away towards the kitchen. They we left alone.

"I have heard rumours that the Sheriff does not support the King in his holy war," Heather enquired.

His expression darkened. "It is not true," Guy snapped and he was glad to speak from his heart once. "All the taxes of Nottinghamshire are spent to support our soldiers. We perform all what is demanded from us. But tell me, what kind of King deserts his people to fight someone else's war in a foreign land? Loyalties are sometimes divided."

The flames curled and swayed in the fireplace, crackling as they burn the dry wood. Heather's face was illuminated by the flickering light, tiny sparks danced in her grey eyes.

"I have little affection towards policy I fear," Heather replied with a sigh. "You might have your good reasons, I assume."

"Lady Heather..." Guy reached for her small hand with a sudden move and covered it with his own. "Do not judge me too harshly until you get to know me better." She quivered but did not pull her hand away.

"There is little time to get to know you better, Sir Guy. Tomorrow our journey will be to its end and our paths might never cross again." There was a great sadness in her voice but Guy could not decide whether it was because of her forthcoming marriage to a stranger or her regret of never seeing him again. He hoped for the latter but common sense suggested him the former. She looked away, nevertheless, she still did not remove her hand from his grasp. She had a vulnerable look on her face.

"I... appreciate the pleasure of your company, my lady. I feel like... you are no stranger for me. If only we had a little bit more time... then I could prove myself to you. I could... protect you."

Her beautiful eyes found his and Guy glanced some odd, tender expression – _regret? concern?_ \- in them. _How possibly could she feel for him?_ It was beyond any reason. Those eyes dug right into his soul.

"Time will heal your wounds, Sir Guy," she said softly. "Forgiveness is never easy, but with honesty and true faith it can be gained. You are much different from... what I imagined." She slightly squeezed his hand then finally pulled hers away. "I wish you all the best from all my heart."

They enjoyed their meal in silence during the rest of the evening.


	9. A Woman with Fine Features

**9\. A Woman with Fine Features**

 _The rays of the cruel sun beat upon the hot sand of the desert. The air was thick and hazy, their steps sunk into the searing soil. Uncontrolled anger was choking him, his sweaty hand clentched the hilt of his sword. I cared for you!, he wanted to scream. You were everything for me! She took one step away from him, her upper lip curved with disdain. „I would rather die than be with you, Guy of Gisborne! I am going to marry Robin Hood. I love Robin Hood. I love... Robin Hood." Her brilliant, grey eyes - no! Marian's eyes were the myriad shades of blue like the summer sky – radiated mockery, humiliation, aversion. He could not bear it any more. He gave a roar of burning rage and stumbled one step after her, blind from pain, his hand moved by itself... her mass of red hair, long waves of molten fire swirled around her in the light... she grasped for air as the sword run through her soft body... she fell into his outstretched arms with a silent sigh... No! Heather! Heather, my..._

He woke up panting in helpless terror, his heart was hammering. He was shaking violently, his breath came in short gasps. He sat up, struggling to regulate his breathing. Hot tears were burning his eyes.

The sun was up. A beacon of cold, morning light pierced through the mullioned panes of glass. As his racing heart slowed down, he got up and started to dress.

Heather was waiting for him with a radiant smile on her face in the inn's dining hall when he walked down the cracking, old stairs. Guy regarded her with an emotionless expression. He spoke with a flat, lifeless tone.

„I am pleased to see you up and ready to continue our journey, my lady." He turned to Tom who was comfortably curled up on the wooden bench. Cold ashes were smoldering in the great fireplace. „Go and fetch our horses!"

Heather's smile faded. „But... I thought..."

„What?" Guy snapped bitterly. „What did you think?"

She turned away, unable to look at him.

„I thought... we had an understanding last night. Your implications suggested... that you would let me go free."

His eye twitched but his face remained expressionless.

„Well, you had mistaken my implications," he responded dryly. „I have promised you nothing." _Liar._ „Do not question my loyalty. If the Sheriff knew I was about to let you go, my life would be in danger."

„Why do you work for him?" Desperation lingered in her voice. She looked up into his sombre, inscrutable face. Guy stood tense and motionless, with his armed crossed.

„I have nobody."

„So you choose him?"

Guy turned away with cold fury. He knew his dream came as a warning. Its intensity was still haunting him _. How could he believe she felt anything for him?_ She tried to deceive him with her sweet lies. She cared for „Robin", her devoted, lost friend, not for him. He never expected her words to hurt him so much, it felt like a thousant knives just pierced through his heart.

„So I chose power. He is my route to position, standing."

„He is cruel and heartless, you know that?" Heather did not want to give it up so easily. She bit her lower lip to control tears. Guy still refused to raise his eyes to look at her.

„Maybe. Or maybe he is smart. He does not allow distractions to divert him from his cause. So should not I."

„Distractions? Like a little humanity?" she lashed out. She was angry now, Guy could tell.

„Humanity is weakness," he retorted coldly.

„Guy... You can't believe that."

„End of discussion. We must leave at once."

Thick, heavy silence descended upon them, oh so much different from last night's warm, intimate quietness. An invisible barrier rose between them. Then Heather raised her chin. She was trembling visibly.

„I have heard aspersions cast on your honesty, my lord," she said bitterly. „I was unwilling to give them any credit. But now... I know you are a coward and your heart is just as black and evil as they claimed it was. I never want to see you again in my life."

She turned and headed for the front door. Guy watched her go and saw her square her slender shoulders as she went. And that gesture went to his heart, more than any words she had spoken.

* * *

After a few hours of hard riding they reached the crossroad between Doncaster and Barnsdale. This was the meeting place Heather was to be handed over to the men of Sir Roderick. A small group of guards were waiting in the dim shade of the bushes. Guy reined in so suddenly his black stallion went back on its haunches, pawing the air. He signed to their retinue to stop.

A man left the team and walked towards them. He was powerfully built, nearly six and a half feet tall, a giant of a man, heavy of barrel and thick of neck. His face was mostly obscured by a black, shaggy beard.

"Sir Guy!" he rumbled over the distance. "I am pleased to have you finally arrived! Where is my lovely betrothed?"

Guy turned to help Heather and had found her already dismounted. Grooms were coming forward for her mare. He peeled off his gloves and handed them to Tom. Sir Roderick hurried forward and stopped in front of Heather. His big hearty voice billowed out.

"There you are, my shy flower! My word, but you are a woman with fine features! Where could the Sheriff find such a beauty I wonder?" He raised her chin with his index finger. "Remarkable eyes, eh? And a profitable fortune as well."

Heather could feel the heat growing in her cheeks. Sir Roderick inspected her like a horse trader examines a horse's part. She felt Guy stiffen next to her.

"I shall leave two of my men to escort back the wagon later," he offered. He mounted again, ready to leave.

"Yes, yes," mumbled the knight with approval. He waved to his guards. "To horse!" Then he turned his large head to Heather again. "And you, my little bud, get in the wagon at once!"

She gave him a startled smile. "I prefer riding, my lord."

"Nonsense!" Sir Roderick boomed. He gripped her upper arm firmly. "I do not tolerate disobedience, my honeybee. Get into the wagon, I said," he commanded.

Heather's face did not change but her lips went very white. She let him lead her away without any further objection. When her hand went out for the handle she took a final look over her shoulder.

Guy spurred his horse and never looked back at her.


	10. The Song of the Mockingbird

**10\. The Song of the Mockingbird**

The sun was low across the new-plowed fields and the tall woods across the river were looming blackly in silhouette. The hill above Locksley was oddly shaped; it either contained completely flat plains or extremely steep slopes and also this hill had pathways and stairs built by the villagers. But the side where Robin sat was the only area exposed to sunlight.

He looked like the shadow of himself. Leaves and dirt adorned his unruly mess of dark blond hair, dried mud streaked his tattered clothes. He was tired and worn. The desolation he felt was all consuming. He sat staring straight ahead with a blank look. He was home. His soul was empty.

Robin was wrapped in thoughtful silence. He watched as the fiery red orb of light slowly sank beneath the horizon. Then he heard the Little John calling him from the edge of the forest, so he stood up with a sigh and ran to meet them.

* * *

A month had passed since Heather was accommodated in the Bower of Barnsdale's fortress. The once glorious, Romanesque castle was weathered, its stones pitted and scarred. The walls of the court was high and flanked by seven towers, a deep moat was cut on the western side, where was the barbican and drawbridge. The fortress was truly magnificent, even in its neglected stage; it would truly have been a castle fit for royalty, if only the Lord of Barnsdale cared less for hunting activities and more for its revival.

Heather was bored to tears. She could not amuse herself with books from the library – _you should not fill your pretty head with tedious notions, my little bud_ -, and her noisy, callous, future husband had spent all his time in the woods, tirelessly chasing stags, foxes and mottled wild ducks. She was fed up with tapestry. She attempted to revive the long-neglected herb garden in the castleyard. She weeded it and planted seeds of rosemary, mint and sage although this time of the year had been already too late for sowing.

She frequently thought about Guy and began to believe that she had been too harsh in her judgement. Even if he was harsh and abrupt, his deep voice and the odd, caring light she sometimes caught in the depths of his bright, icy blue eyes strangely comforted her. But it was too late for an apology; he was gone from her life.

She gave even more thought to Robin. In the days of her captivity he was her only friend. She learned to wait for the soft knock on the door, her heart was hammering wildly when he whispered kind and comforting words to her. He cared for her, she knew; why did he abandon her? _Has something happened to him? Was he captured, locked in a cold, damp cell alone?_ She missed their quiet conversations, his laughter, the warm tone of his voice so much. Heather treasured her memories of the time they spent together. They were all she had left.

Leaning comfortably back in her chair, she inspected her reflection in the large, brass mirror in the bright, morning sunlight. She was pale, with dark circles beneath her eyes. Her loose red hair was liquid fire, swirling around her shoulders. She sighed. She had sent away the maid earlier as she wanted to stay alone, but she would need help with piling up her untamed curls into an intricate, tidy braid. It was the day of her wedding.

The season of Beltane was about to begin that night, to be celebrated with laughter and joy and fertility rites to honour and venerate the natural forces of the waxing year. The May Queen, dressed in white crowned with garlands of flowers would be carried in procession around the village. It was said that Beltane really started when the hawthorn trees blossomed. Through the window she could smell their balmy, soft fragrance. Mockingbirds sang the song of love. Her life was about to end.

The door softly creaked behind her back and Heather winced.

"At least do me the courtesy of knocking," she said warily.

"I've been looking for you all over this damned vast castle, and I admit I expected a little bit warmer greeting." His deep, soft voice was amused. Her heart failed a beat.

Guy!

She swivelled around in her chair and stared at him with wide, incredulous eyes.

"How…? When…?" Her voice trailed off.

"The Sheriff was invited to the ceremony, of course. We have arrived in the middle of the last night."

He crossed the room with two big steps and was standing in front of her, tall and lithe.

"I was determined to find you. To talk to you." His voice was gentle but there was a vibrant note in it, and looking up into his unreadable face she trembled. "You said my attentions were no longer welcome," he continued quietly. "Tell me, have you changed your heart?"

"I… Sir Guy… It was never my intention to hurt you," she said honestly. "I have no hard feelings for you." She slowly recovered her composure. "I am glad you came."

His deep blue eyes flickered. "Really?"

She rose from her chair to face him. He watched her every movement with a strange eagerness.

"The preparations require some time. The ceremony will be held late this afternoon. Does… does your accommodation please you?"

"Yes." And now he smiled, with a breath-taking roguish smile. "But I did not come to you to speak courtesies, Heather. I came because I ask you to marry me."

Thunderstruck, she stood if paralyzed. Even the sweet song of the mockingbird below the window stopped for an instant.

"What?"

"Marry me."

 _He meant it. There was no doubt about it._

"But… I shall marry Sir Roderick." Her mouth was suddenly dry.

"That should be no drawback," he replied casually. "Do you have feelings for him?"

"No, but… I have no feelings for you either."

Guy lowered his head to look into her face, now flaming with colour.

"You do not understand. I offer you a way out. This big, fat, rude betrothed of yours treats you like a child. He has no respect for you. I know you are scared. Marry me and you shall be beyond his reach." An urging edge sharpened his voice. "Come with me. I would… provide for you. I promise."

Suddenly she thought of Robin, heard his soft whisper so vividly as though he stood beside her. _I will find you. I promise._ She did not know that her face had changed, the memory had brought a softness to it which Guy had never seen before. He looked at her wide and misty eyes, the tender curve on her lips and for a moment his breath stopped. Before she could recover her balance his arms were around her and the quiet voice of her Robin was faded to nothingness. He bent back her head across his arm and kissed her softly and slowly, sending wild tremors along her nerves, evoking from her sensations she had never known she was capable of feeling. Dizzy weakness swept over her and she knew that she was kissing him back.

Then Guy drew back and let her go so quickly that she almost lost her balance. She opened her eyes and reality struck her.

"How dare you!" Anger drove out some of the fog from her mind. Her treacherous feelings made her cheeks burn with shame. She lifted her hand and slapped his face with a full force.

Guy drew a swift breath and stepped away from her. He gave her a sharp look that made her drop her arm and shrink back. Before his direct gaze her eyes fell.

"Forgive me, my lady." The edge in his low voice spoke of a raw, unhealed wound that ached within him. Then a ghost of smile lit on his face and he gave a well-mannered bow. Heather bit her trembling lip and watched with silent desperation as he left the room.


	11. Two Sides of the Coin

**11\. Two Sides of the Coin**

Her face was whiter than her beautiful, creamy coloured wedding gown when Sheriff Vaisey led her on his arms towards the castle gardens. The long gown was made of rich silk fabric and was trimmed with delicate lace. She wore a short veil held by a silver tiara, in one hand she held a bouquet of blue flowers wrapped in silver ribbons. They walked slowly amongst the beds of flowering lilies. The sward was as green as emeralds and the smell of roasting meats for the marriage feast carried on the breeze.

„Have you seen our Gisborne today?" the Sheriff inquired suddenly. Heather almost missed a step.

„Please, do not mention this name to me, my lord," she whispered back. „I despise him with all my heart."

The Sheriff shot a sharp, suspicious glance towards her but could not see her expression clearly under the soft veil. He shook his head.

„What a shame", he mumbled. „You see, hatred and love are but the two sides of the same coin."

A large tent was set up in the midst of the garden, there were flowers and ribbons hanging from all the columns. Tables and chairs lined the perimeter of the tent, already full with waiting guests. Set up at the opposite end stood a small altar with candles. Heather could glimpse the plump figure of the Bishop standing in purple behind it.

Next to the altar was Sir Roderick himself. His dark hair and beard had been trimmed, his face reddened with pride by the sight of the lovely bride. In honour of his marriage his stocky, giant frame was clad in a long tunic of deep blue wool. There were audible grasps as Lady Heather made her way to the centre of the tent, she was as astonishingly beautiful as a vision.

The Sheriff let her hand go and addressed the piebald crowd with outstretched arms.

„My lords, ladies and you for your attendance here today. It is a very touching moment, indeed, very touching." Jovial smile spread over his face. „It is my greatest pleasure, as well as my duty as a guardian, to announce the holy marriage between the Lady Strelley and the Lord Barsdale. Let the ceremony begin!"

The audience cheered noisily. Heather turned towards Sir Roderick in a dreamlike trance. Within her, the fear ran like liquid ice, numbing even her thoughts. The Bishop graciously signed them to go to their knees. Then he spread his hands for the blessing.

„Heather. Roderick. Cum ígitur sancti Matrimónii fcedus iníre, intendátis..."

„Objection!"

The loud, clean voice of Guy pierced through the murmuring of the crowd. The people hissed, Heather turned around with wide, incredulous eyes and her glance found him standing at the entrance of the tent with his feet apart in a menacing pose.

„Objection!" he repeated calmly. „I object to this marriage. The lady is forced against her own free will."

The face of the Sheriff was distorted in dark frenzy.

„This is an outrage!" he shouted. „What do you think you are doing, you blithering oaf? Guards! Take him!"

Three guards ran forward immediately to grab Guy, but Sir Roderick staggered on his feet and roared at them.

„No!" he grunted. „I shall deal with him myself!" The guards froze for an instant then released Guy. The Bishop started a silent prayer. A dowdy, middle-aged noblewoman fainted, somebody screamed.

Sir Roderick drew his greatsword, holding it with both hands, and charged with an inarticulate howl. A hint of a pale smile flickered on Guy's face. He also drew his shorter, lighter blade and slid sideways.

„You are far too slow for your years," he said as the knight turned to keep him in sight. Sir Roderick slashed at him, his greatsword flashing, but Guy parried the blow with ease. Metal screamed on metal. The knight grunted and made another ponderous charge to hack at Guy's head. He avoided him easily. Sir Roderick attacked relentlessly, but Guy kept circling, jabbing, then darting back again, forcing the huge man to turn and turn after him. It seemed to Heather that he was playing with him. The crowd began to prompt the combatants.

It went on that way for what seemed a long time. Back and forth they moved across the yard, and round and round in spirals, Sir Roderick slashing at the air while Guy's shorter sword cut at arm, and leg, once at his temple. The knight was constantly muttering curses, Guy fought in a determined silence. He dodged a looping cut from the greatsword.

„You could be her father, you know," he tainted. All around the yard, the throng of spectators was creeping in toward the two combatants, edging forward inch by inch to get a better view. The guards tried to keep them back, showing at the gawkers with their shields, but there were dozens of gawkers and only six of the men in armour.

Guy parried another savage cut. Sir Roderick began to pant heavily, short of breath. He seemed to be moving a little slower, his temple was bleeding. He tried to bull rush but Guy skipped aside and circled round his back.

"Tired, old man?" Sir Roderick took two long strides and brought his sword down at Guy's head, but he backstepped once more, his predatory gaze had never left the face of his enemy. The knight followed, bellowing. _He roars like an animal_ , Heather thought. Metal met metal with an ear-splitting clang sending Guy reeling. His retreat became a headlong backward dance mere inches ahead of the greatsword as it slashed at his chest, his arms, his head.

Spectators screamed and shoved at each other to get out of the way. Sir Roderick hacked down with all his savage strength, Guy threw himself sideways, rolling. But he was immediately back on his feet, his short blade in hand. Off balance, Sir Roderick stumbled forward a step. Guy's sword flashed like the lightning and found a gap in his defence again, under the arm.

The knight tried to take a step, one knee buckled. Heather thought he was going down. Guy whirled cat-quick, Sir Roderick started to turn, but too slow and too late. Guy drove his sword forward with the whole weight of his body behind it.

The sword had gone through him. The knight collapsed, his greatsword fell out from his enervate fingers. He wrapped both hands about the hilt, grunting, but could not pull it out. Beneath him was a spreading pool of red. When he opened his mouth to moan, only blood came out.

There was dead silence. Sir Roderick lay motionless on the ground. Guy looked up, his icy-blue gaze met Heather's. His coal-black hair was soaked with sweat.

Then everybody moved at once.

"Guards! Grab him, you idiots!" commanded the Sheriff, choking with anger. The guards drew their swords and surrounded Guy in a tight circle. He was greatly outnumbered and trapped. He raised his sword again and looked his enemy in the eye, promising each a long and painful death. The Sheriff twisted his lips into one of those ugly smiles he did so well.

"Hold!"

The strong, commanding voice came from above their heads. A slim figure stood on the top of the curtain wall. He wore a simple, brown leather outfit and he had a big, Saracen bow in his hands. His next words were directly addressed to Guy.

"It took me some time to figure out where you were hiding, murderer. Now you shall pay for your sins."


	12. She Was Mine

**12\. She Was Mine**

The castleyard became astir like a broken beehive. Guards ran towards the stairs of the towers. Guy looked up and with his hands shadowed his eyes against the bright, low sunlight. He spotted several ragged archers in the shadows of the archway, all bows aimed at them. Sheriff Vaisley let out a nasty laugh.

„Hood!" Then he called to the guards. „Stop! Leave him be!"

Heather's heart sank, the realization struck her soul and filled her with a horrific sense of both dread and exhilaration. Her hands clutched the edge of the altar tightly. _Robin came for her._

A thick rope was snaking through the air. Robin Hood dropped down his bow, grabbed the rope's upper end and swiftly slid down on it. Once his feet hit the ground, he drew his sword and approached the little group in the middle. He had a murderous look in his dark eyes. Guy's mouth narrowed to a thin line. The intense gazes of the two mortal enemies met.

The Sheriff signed the guards to give place to them. Their circle withdrew. Guy clenched his teeth and raised his blade again. His face was pale and determined.

„It is between you and me now," said Robin. „You have nowhere to run. Prepare to die."

„Stop them, my lord!" the Bishop whispered to the Sheriff anxiously. „There should be no more bloodshed at this place."

„Sanctimonious old fart!" Vaisey spitted to him. „Look at the bigger picture! Robin kills Guy, good. We get rid of this traitor. Guy kills Robin, even better. Sit down and enjoy the show!"

The two warriors started to circle each other, studying every weakness they could find. Guy was a head taller and his longer arms gave him an advantage, but he was exhausted from the previous battle while his opponent was probably well-rested. No further words were spoken. Their blades clashed together yet still they circled. The fight had not yet begun. They were just testing each other as their swords met again. It was the alluring dance of death.

Robin suddenly charged sword slashing. It came down in a vicious arc, but Guy was no longer standing there. Robin struck again and their swords met with a loud crash and a shower of sparks. Both of them retreated and continued to circle.

They could not have said how long the deadly dance continued. It might have been minutes or it might have been hours; time slept when swords woke. Robin's blade leapt up to block a downcut that would have been opened him from shoulder to groin, and then he cut at his foe, again and again, fighting his way stroke by stroke.

Their swords crossed and locked again with an overwhelming force and Guy stumbled backwards. Robin wasted no time, he lunged forward to charge with vehement hatred. Guy managed to block his sword, trying to regain his balance. With a hard swing to the left, Robin brought down his blade on Guy's head but he laid his fist hard into Robin's face and got him in the chest with the flat side of his blade as he floundered backwards. Guy raised his sword to strike down – the he lowered it and stepped back.

Robin shook his head. He looked dazed. Blood gushed from his bruised face. Both were breathing hard now.

„I never wanted to kill her," Guy panted painfully. „I loved her."

„She was mine!" Robin attacked him with renewed strength. Again the swords met and their steel song filled the garden. One of the savage blows gashed Guy's thigh high, below his hip. He gasped in pain, dark blood began to soak his leather trousers.

He dodged the next slash and charged. Robin managed to parry the strike but it held such a violent strength that he went to one knee and dropped his blade. Guy raised his sword with both hands and prepared for a fatal blow.

A high scream stopped his hand.

„No!" Heather pushed the people aside and threw herself between them. She tore down her veil and cast it away. Tears flowed from her wide eyes and she trembled violently. She stretched her arms begging towards Guy. „Please! Don't kill him!"

He lowered his sword. A pain slashed at his heart as savagely as a wild animal's fangs. He stood paralyzed, unable to say a word.

„Guy, please!"

The Sheriff snapped his fingers. Guards rushed forward. Guy let them to twist his sword from his grasp without objection. He felt a swordhilt smash into the back of his skull from behind and he collapsed with a silent sigh. The world went black around him.

Robin staggered to his feet. The revengeful fire went out of his eyes. An arrow pierced the ground. Another arrow passed over his head and fell into the grass. His men shouted at him, trying to catch his attention. He glanced behind his back and there was Much, the faithful Much, leading their horses by the rein. He quickly picked up his fallen sword from the ground and ran.

Sharp whistle pierced the air. The invisible archers retreated from the archways. Robin sprang into the saddle of his chestnut stallion then heard someone calling his name and saw the girl running towards him. He spurred his horse, then turning, bent down to grab the girl's wrist firmly and lifted her to ride behind him in the saddle. Much was already on the back of his his smaller, grey mare. Their horses leaped out and raced towards the gates.

They heard wild screams behind their backs. Then the cry of the Sheriff shot through the mass of loud shrieks.

„Get them! Don't let them escape! Down portcullis! And for God's sake, put this one in chains!"

But it was already too late. The gang of Robin had been already outside of the fortress, racing through the drawnbridge. Heather put her arms around her saviour's waist tightly. A giant man swooped beside them and handed the curved, Saracen bow over to Robin. Then the deep shadows of the dark, dense forest devoured them.


	13. You Owe Me a Life

**13\. You Owe Me a Life**

When Guy woke up, it was already dark. He found himself heavily chained, jolting in a cart. His face was bruised and swollen, blood oozed from the wound on his thigh. He tried to lift his head and he felt a throbbing, sharp pain in his nape. Black mists swirled at the edges of his mind and he struggled to stay conscious. He tried to palpate the back of his head carefully and found a big bump with his fingers, his hair was soaked with blood. The constant uneven bouncing of the cart sent fresh jolts of pain to his ravaged body. He clung to the bars and sat up carefully.

„Ah, finally, Gisborne. I almost thought that weasel might had hit you too hard." The Sheriff navigated his horse to ride next to the cart. His sneer was sarcastic.

„Where are we?" Guy asked. He could not see anything but dark shades.

„On the road to Nottingham," Vaisey replied.

„In the middle of the night?" Guy laughed out aloud. He felt strangely light-headed. „Why? Robin shows up and you run back to Nottingham with your tail between your legs?"

„You shall pay for this, Gisborne," said the Sheriff darkly. „You shall hang like a common criminal, I promise."

There were only small sounds of rusting bushes and the howl of the wind for a while. The forest was dark and cold. Guy shivered.

„What happened to Heather?" he asked quietly.

„Hah! Women! Again!" the Sheriff barked. „Making a habit of it, aren't you? All you can do is to bleat about a woman! Such a useless idiot! Just when I thought I could rely on you, you go and show compassion. You pathetic fool."

With these words he spurred his horse and galloped to the head of the procession.

* * *

When Heather opened her eyes the sun was already high up above the trees. She stretched, raising her arms high over her head and remembered the long, hard riding of the previous night. She smiled, closed her eyes again and drew in a lung full of the woodland air. She let the sounds of birds fill her ears. She was in the Sherwood Forest.

She sat up and looked around. The place must have been the camp of the outlaws. She saw trees all around her. The light streaked through the boughs in both brilliant and shadowy beams. In the shelter of the trees hid a small cave, in front of it stood a makeshift tent with straw beds and a campfire. Her joints were aching from spending the night on a straw-bed but she did not mind. She saw a blond man with a funny face and huge, innocent eyes – _Much?_ – stirring something diligently in a big pan over the fire. He smiled at her, a bright, honest smile. A short-haired woman leaned over her.

„Good morning! I am Jaq. Are you all right? Did you sleep well?" Her voice was deep and melodious and carried a strange accent.

„Yes, thank you," she replied gratefully. „Although I feel I could eat a horse."

„This is no horse!" Much protested. „I ain't cook no horse! These are the best pigeons from the Sheriff's stock!"

„Shh, Much, shut up!" Jaq laughed. She helped Heather to her feet. „Come, girl, Robin wants a word with you."

„Robin!" Her eyes lit up. She smoothed her dress down hastily and took out the combs from her hair. She shook her hair loose about her shoulders. The wind lifted the wavy red strands like caressing hands. „Please, lead me to him!"

„Not necessary," Robin said with a smile as he entered the camp. Behind him stood a giant of a man with arms as stick as a strong man's legs, carrying a huge quaterstaff. „I am here".

Heather stared at Robin for an instant then ran to him with a smile across her face, her heart beating wildly. Stopping short, she gasped, „Robin?"

Robin frowned in amusement. He was a young, slim man, the traces of boyhood still lingering on his face. A big, Saracen bow and quiver hung on his back.

„Do I know you, my lady?" he asked. _His voice..._

Heather stared at his dark eyes that were completely void of recognition. She froze, her feet refusing to move, her heart refusing to beat, her eyes darting back and forth around the faces. She could hardly find the words.

„I... I am Heather of Strelley. The Sheriff of Nottingham was charged with my wardship by Prince John."

The men burst out laughing. Robin kept a straight face although his eyes flickered.

„Don't mind them, my lady," he said hastily. „We don't mean to insult you. It's just..."

„I cannot help but recall the Sheriff's face when his little bird flew out of the cage", Much moaned, wiping his eyes.

Heather began to tremble. _This was all wrong._ _His voice... was not familiar._

„I... I don't understand," she stammered. „When... when did you come back from the Holy Land?"

Robin raised his eyebrow at the strange question.

„A fortnight ago."

The girl stumbled but Robin caught her with strong arms. The laugh died. Heather drew a deep, ragged breath. _This is not him... But then..._ Her eyes widened with recognition and her face went very pale. Jaq jumped next to them.

„You might not feel quite well. Are you injured?"

Heather gently pushed her hand away. A sad smile twisted her lips. _The strange look in his eyes, as if always waiting for something. And I never realized..._ She slowly straightened and glanced up at Jaq's worried face.

„I am fine. Just a little bit shaken. However..." Her mind started to race, her voice was suddenly filled with determination even if her heart now was knotted up in fear. _Maybe it is not too late._ „Robin... I wish to ask a favour from you."

„Anything, my lady," he replied earnestly. „You have saved my life back there, yesterday. I owe you. I have no intention of abandoning you." His men murmured in agreement.

„You owe me a life, Robin Hood. So I ask... the life of Guy of Gisborne."


	14. Heart of a Lion

**14\. Heart of a Lion**

„I ask the life of Guy of Gisborne," Heather repeated. She raised her chin defiantly. Heavy silence hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. Robin turned away from her, his complexion was ashen, his eyes hollow. Little John grunted like a wounded bear. Much cried out, pushed Jaq aside and grabbed Heather's hand.

„My lady, don't ask this, please, I beg you, don't you realize you are breakin' his heart? That man is the devil himself, I tell you! He deserves to die a thousand deaths! Please..." he begged. Heather glanced at him regretfully but her determination remained steady. _He must live!_

Robin met her glance with a haunted look in his eyes, he ran his fingers through his tawny hair. Then he silenced Much with a single, commanding gesture.

„Much, enough!"

„But Master...!"

„I gave her my word."

„But... Master! He murdered..."

„Shut up, Much." Robin's voice was very quiet. Suddenly he looked tired and worn out, the angles of his boyish face were sharper and his cheeks more sunken. „I won't go back on my given word. I have nothing left but my honour." He drew a deep, shaking breath and turned to Heather. „A life for a life, then. What will you have me to do, Heather of Strelley?"

Heather licked her lips nervously. Her glance darted around at the hostile faces. She choose her words very carefully.

„Whether you believe it or not, I would not ask it from you if it did not mean everything to me. Guy... means everything to me. And only now I realize it. But it must not be too late. Not for him and not for you. Darkness... cannot drive out darkness, Robin. Hunger for vengeance poisons the soul then it consumes everything you believe in." Robin lowered his head, unable to look at her. „You have a good heart. I pray that you shall find forgiveness in it." Heather glanced at the outlaws gathered around her. „And you... all of you, who fought in the name of King Richard so bravely to protect the poor and to defend justice... You should know better. You all have suffered from injustice. You all have lost someone. You should know better that murder only leads to more violence."

„There are victims in every war," ventured Much. There was no power in his voice.

„Is it not enough for you that the blood of the true sons of England soaks the Holy Land? Are you eager to bring war to your homeland as well?" The outlaws backed down from the fierce fire burning in her eyes. Much murmured something under his breath but avoided her stare.

Then a slow smile spreaded across the tanned face of Jaq.

„By Allah, girl," she grunted, „you could save your man alone, with all this warrior heart of yours."

The strain eased. Heather smiled back at her gratefully. Little John exhaled noisily and leaned on his massive quarterstaff.

„Her, I like," he announced suddenly.

„But you don't like the idea of saving Gisborne, do you?" Much mumbled stubbornly.

„No." He chewed every word thoughtfully. „But I shall help, anyway."

„So shall I," said Jaq. The others nodded in silent agreement. Much glanced around then raised his hand in surrender.

„All right, all right. Just don't blame me when it is too late."

Heather sighed with relief.

„Thank you," she said. Her heart was calmer now and her mind was racing more. _We need a plan. A very good plan._ „Do you know where is he now?"

One of Robin's men, the skinny one named Will Scarlett stepped forward.

„Well, the villagers said the Sheriff had returned to Nottingham last night," he advised. „He brought Guy of Gisborne with him in chains. They say the execution shall take place tomorrow. Whatever you plan to do, we need to hurry."

 _Execution!_ Fear gripped her stomach with its icy fingers. She desperately sought solutions but found only one.

„I shall go back to the castle," she offered. „Then I can let you in to save him."

Robin considered her plan. It was simple and practical. He slowly nodded.

„It can be done. Find a way to send a message to us. Go to the market or send a servant if you know a reliable one. We shall be ready to take them by surprise." A faint smile dawned upon his face. „You have the heart of a lion, my lady. Take a horse. Will, you shall escort her back to the edge of the forest."

* * *

 _This was a cruel game to play_ , Heather thought while she pulled the reins to cross the drawbridge of Nottingham. _If my plot fails, if something is to go wrong, Guy will die. Then I will loose him before I have the chance to tell him..._

She took care about her appearance before leaving the outlaw camp. She messed up her hair, rubbed dust on her cheeks. Her beautiful, ornamented gown was a wreck, hanging in rags. She found no difficulty in trembling with fear and when she glimpsed the Sheriff marching out the big castle gate, her tears began to flow uncontrollably. She stopped her horse in the middle of the castleyard, slipped down from the saddle and stretched her arms towards Vaisey.

„Please," she cried, „please, help me!"

The Sheriff was stunned for an instant, then he found his voice.

„Ahh, the little bird. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" _Mockery, as always._

„Please, Sheriff... the outlaws captured me but I fled. I have nowhere to go, you are my only refuge."

Vaisey glanced behind her back suspiciously.

„Are you alone?"

„Yes," she sobbed. „I stole their horse and rode as fast as the wind. No one followed me I suppose."

„You suppose, eh?" The Sheriff rubbed his chin thoughtfully. A stableboy arrived rushing, Heather handled the rein to him. „I must admit, missy, the sorry state of your... affairs had rather affected my judgement of you. Barnsdale was slaughtered like a pig. Because of you. I lost my mining rights. Because of you. But do you know what is the most sensitive point, my dear girl? I lost the protection and goodwill of Price John, because of this... outrageous wedding! Because of YOU!"

„I... I am so sorry, my lord."

„It's a little bit late for a conscience, isn't it?" he barked angrily. Heather glanced around covertly and she caught a glimpse of Tom loafing about the stables. Her hopes kindled. She bowed her head obediently, contritely.

„I don't know which is worse, lovestruck idiots or wailing women," the Sheriff murmured sullenly. He seemed to make his decision. „Go to your chambers and clean yourself up. And stay there. I tolerate no more disobedience from you."


	15. The Hiss of an Arrow

**15\. The Hiss of an Arrow**

Will Scarlett had been hanging around the market stalls since early dawn, pacing up and down impatiently. The whole street reeked with foul odours, pigs were grunting and lambs were bleating, the vivid colours of late spring were spilling out as vendors hurriedly spread their wares.

He pulled his hood over his eyes. He was still not very much convinced that Guy of Gisborne's life was worth a penny but Jaq was adamant. _Don't do it for Gisborne_ , she said. _Do it for the girl_. _Even the blind can see that she is all over him. Allah has given to us his greatest gift: love. Do it for love._ Her eyes were the shade of acorns, just bright enough to shine in the shadows. _Don't try to sweet-talk me_ , he murmured but he could not refuse her. He embraced her and kissed her soft lips.

He glanced around, hoping to discover Heather's slender figure in the crowd. Instead, a skinny lad nudged him in the ribs.

„Are you Will Scarlett?" he asked, grinning.

„Yes," he whispered. „Keep your voice down. Do you have a message?"

„The lady says the hangin' will take place at noon. She is not allowed to leave her quarters but she sent me to find you. I'm Tom." He cocked his head and gave him a bright smile. „Will you save my Master?"

„Shh... " Will glanced around nervously, then turned back to the lad just to find he had already disappeared between the merchant's stalls.

* * *

Guy was slightly feverish, when the jailer came for him, though he managed to walk out of the prison without his knees failing him. A tall skinny man, with almost no teeth left, the jailer looked practically more filthy than him. He was also deaf as a door-nail, so Guy did not bother with questions.

When they emerged from the dungeon, he looked around, blinking in the sudden bright light. His hands were bound behind his back so he could not shadow his eyes against it. He was stopped within view of a raised scaffold that had been constructed under the gallows. A massive crowd had gathered around. It seemed, not only the people of Nottingham town were eager to see him hanged but all able men and women came from the outlying villages to witness his execution. There were whole families sitting around a lunch basket enjoying its contents, even little children.

„Well, I was not aware of being so popular," he muttered to himself ironically. There was not even a single soul to show him sympathy today, he knew. Open hatred and hostility glared from their faces. _The Gisborne bloodline ends today_ , he thought stoically. He felt no remorse. He gave up all his ambitions the moment he interrupted the marriage ceremony at Barnsdale. A clergyman approached him but he shook his head. He never was the pious type, he won't finish his life with a lie on his lips.

It had been a warm sunny day with blue skies, yet he was shivering. The bell clapped twelve times. The guards nudged him to ascend the scaffold steps. He obeyed without betraying the slightest emotion.

From the top of the scaffold he could see over the crowd, and he glanced Sheriff Vaisey standing on the stairs in front of the castle gates. An unwilling shadow-grin touched Guy's face by the sight of his priggish, arrogant pose. But then he glanced further and noticed Heather waiting quietly next to the Sheriff. _God, she is so beautiful!_ She looked very pale but strangely calm. She did not return his gaze, her eyes swept across the yard as if she was looking for something.

The Sheriff spread his arms as if he wanted to embrace the crowd.

„Ladies and gentlemen, people of Nottingham! We are gathered here to witness the caring out of justice in the name of God and King Richard! Therefore let it be heard and known, about the lands and realms of Richard, his majesty, King of England, that on this day Guy of Gisborne had been tried on the law and found guilty of the crime of crucially murdering Sir Roderick Barnsdale on his wedding day." The crowd gasped. „He has been sentenced to hang by a rope until he is dead."

 _So this is it_ , Guy thought almost cheerfully. _This is the end._ The hangman stepped behind him and slipped a white wool hood over his head. A noose was adjusted around his neck. There was the sound of a lever being pulled.

Then the rope snapped and the gallows doors dropped beneath his feet. The crowd let out a gasp then remained silent. He started to choke, desperately kicking with his legs to find anything to stand on it. His vision began to cloud.

The big Saracen bow jerked as Robin fired, but he held it with a steady hand. The arrow sped through the air and found its target, its razor sharp pinpoint severed the rope in the middle. Guy dropped to the scaffold, grasping for breath. He heard someone landing on the platform, then the hangman cried out in surprise. A stout body landed heavily on the planks. His hood was removed at once, and he looked up to the bearded, troll-like face of Little John.

The crowd exploded. Half of them were screaming and cursing, the other half cheered and chanted the name of Robin Hood. Guy climbed to his feet, woozy and stunned.

„Move, Gisborne!" Little John shouted. He tore the rope around Guy's wrists then dragged him to jump from the platform. Guy suddenly saw Robin racing towards them, his bow in his hand.

„You just could not stand the thought that someone else would have the pleasure of killing me, did you?" he greeted him teasingly. His throat was burning, his voice was hoarse. His eyes were frantically searching for Heather but the girl was nowhere to be seen.

Robin's expression was unreadable. They heard screaming above their heads and glanced up to see the castle guards furiously fighting with Robin's men on the galleries. Swords clang against swords, the crowd shoved and ran.

„Archers to the gates!" the Sheriff bellowed.

Robin grabbed Guy's arm.

„Come on, Gisborne, you don't have all day! We can discuss the terms of our relationship at a later point, don't you agree?"

They heard an evil chuckle, so they slowly turned around to see a forest of lances surrounding them. More guards were swarming from the annexes like a frenzy of locusts.

„A touching reunion!" The Sheriff burst into a guffaw. He came forward to have a better look on them, he was dragging the struggling Heather behind him by her wrist. Guy cried out in anger and reached for the hilt of his sword, completely forgetting the fact that he was unarmed. Robin glanced up to the galleries and saw that his men were greatly outnumbered. He lowered his bow and signaled to them to cease fighting.

„You see," the Sheriff continued, „I knew something was not right. This little bird here sought to mislead me. ME! Oh, she was very convincing! Tears and begging and 'oh please help me, Sheriff'! Hah!" He certainly enjoyed the attention of the audience. „Did you think it was so easy to deceive me, my young lady? I was a step ahead of you and I had brought extra guards with me from Barsdale, to set up a trap for the escape party."

„You... you monster", hissed Heather, still struggling.

„Charming as ever, my dear lady," taunted the Sheriff. „Nevertheless, I was right. I used you and the Hood fell into my lap like ripe fruit."

Guy clenched his fist in helpless rage. He glanced at Robin but he shook his head resignedly.

„Take them!" the Sheriff commanded the guards.


	16. The Return

**16\. The Return**

Suddenly a strong voice boomed across the yard.

„Stop! What is going on?"

The crowd, the guards and the outlaws, the Sheriff, Guy and Robin turned as one man to stare at the mounted figure at the gates. The speaker was a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing the crusader's armor with a red cross on his chest. He spoke with an authority and a certainty of being obeyed that no one thought of questioning. Behind him stood firmly his royal guard and the company of crusaders, mighty warriors of many battles.

„Richard!" Robin hissed in surprise. „It's his majesty!"

His word was overheard by the people around him.

„The king! His majesty, the king! It is the king! Richard, the Lionheart! The king is back!" Fascinated whispers filled the yard. The people dropped reverently upon their knees. King Richard straightened in the saddle and repeated his question on a very calm, yet determined voice.

„What is going on? Sheriff Vaisey, I assume you have a good explanation."

Guy risked a quick, backward glance to see the Sheriff's face, now red with rage.

„Your M... Majesty..." Vaisey stuttered. For the first time in his life, words failed him.

„May I speak, Your Majesty?" asked Robin quietly and the king's eyes darted to his face.

„Rise and speak freely, Robin of Locksley, my friend," he replied with a warm smile.

„There is great injustice here, Your Majesty. The Sheriff of Nottingham opresses your loyal subjects. These folks need your piece and protection. The plot of the Black Knights has failed but the Sheriff never ceased to screw the peasantry. Families are starving and children die while the Sheriff gets more rich and powerful with every day."

„So I have heard," the king nodded. „So you yourself told me before. Thus I came to see it with my own eyes." His handsome face contorted with anger. „And I've found not only the complete lack of common sense but disorder and betrayal." He drew a deep breath. „Sheriff of Nottingham! I charge you with high treason. Submit yourself!"

The Sheriff finally found his voice. He gave an inarticulate roar, yanked Heather's head back by the hair with one hand and pressed the tip of his dagger to her throat with the other. She gasped from surprise and fear.

„One more word and she is dead!" the Sheriff yelled. The guards leapt to reach him but he jerked away from them and helf the girl in from of him as aliving shield. „Back off!"

The king raised his hand to stop the guards.

„Let that girl go at once and I may show leniency. There is no way to escape."

Sheriff Vaisey chuckled, a dry, terrible sound. Then he turned, and dragging Heather with him, disappeared in the castle.

Despite his sore body, Guy jumped to his feet, cursing.

„The secret passage!" With one savage pull he drew Robin's sword from his sheath and hotfooted after them.

* * *

Heather fought for every single step dearly. With his brute strength the Sheriff dragged her through the dim corridors lined with paintings and mould, towards the cellars. She jammed her elbow into his ribs but his grip was not loosened on her. She tried to kick him and then the Sheriff backhanded her viciously. The force of the blow stunned her. Then again he grabbed her by the hair and she screamed.

On the next corner she jerked away from him again and threw herself on the ground. The Sheriff cursed and lifted his hand again to strike another blow. She turned her head.

Guy stepped out of the shadows silently, sword in hand.

„Let her go!" he growled.

The Sheriff laughed wildly, „You are in no position to give orders."

„It is me you want. It is me who betrayed you."

„You are a fool to think you can lure me into a duel with you, Gisborne," the Sheriff snarled. He reached for Heather again to drag her to her feet but the girl seized her chance and kicked him hard. The Sheriff stumbled back, Heather rolled then jumped to her feet to run to Guy but he motioned her to move behind him. His piercing gaze never left the face of his enemy. The Sheriff cursed incoherently and drew his sword.

Guy charged. His high-brought attack met the other blade in mid air. The power of the violent blow knocked the Sheriff to the stone wall. He was only off balance for an instant. Suddenly he burst in with a loud yell and there was a blur of blades as the two men fought and parried. Guy aimed for his neck, the Sheriff blocked, then with both blades still locked, he slammed his free fist into Guy's face. For a moment he stood stunned, his grip loosening on the hilt. The Sheriff was over him on an instant, his dagger appearing in his left hand, but as he was about to strike Guy twisted to one side and kicked out. The Sheriff cried out in pain and the dagger spun harmlessly aside.

Both of them stepped back, panting now with extertion and pain. Guy knew he was a better warrior but he was also more exhausted and wounded. But as he stabbed forward in a desperate attempt to draw blood he realized the Sheriff's strength was failing quickly. Without pausing he danced closer, sending quick, sharp jabs against his opponent's guard, keeping him in a defence state. He knew it had to be finished shortly, otherwise he himself won't hold much longer. He clenched his jaw and attacked again and again, giving all his pain, fear, grief and rage into the blows. He held nothing back. The Sheriff dropped down to his knees under the power of the strikes. His blade fell from his hands and he wanted to say a word when with one last, vicious blow Guy stabbed his sword deep into his chest.

The Sheriff's eyes went wide with shocked surprise. He opened his mouth but only blood came in a dark red stream. Guy watched panting as the last trace of life winked out of his eyes.

Heather ran to him and embraced him wildly. Guy dropped his sword and wrapped his arms around her. Then the girl lifted her chin to meet his eyes. She was smiling through her tears.

„It is you," she whispered. „It is you, my faithful friend. You've found me as you promised."

* * *

When they walked out from the castle, great silence descended upon the yard. The king was dismounted now, quietly talking to Robin, but they both turned when Guy and Heather appeared hand in hand. Guy raised his bloody sword high into the air then dropped it to the ground. Heather stood closely next to him, aiding him to stand steady.

King Richard nodded and turned to Robin with a solemn face.

„Hereby I, Richard, King of England grant you, Robin of Locksley, a royal pardon, for all the crimes you were charged at my absence. I declare you acted in the best interest of my people. Your lands shall be returned to you as well as your noble title."

„Thank you, Your Majesty," Robin replied.

„As for your men," continued the king with a faint smile, „the pardon is granted for them as well. They can return to their families in piece." A loud cheer filled the castle. Then the king scowled and glanced towards Guy. „As for Guy of Gisborne... He comitted numerous crimes against the crown. But..." he returned his gaze to Robin, „the greatest crime of all was against you, Robin. I give his life to your hands."

Robin looked up the clean, bright sky, blinking. For an instant he felt a soft breeze on his face, heard the rustling of white silk, saw a pair of bright eyes in the delicate shade of cornflower blue... then he lowered his head.

„I do not crave for vengeance, Your Majesty," he said softly. „Guy of Gisborne has already paid for his crimes. Let him live if he can find his piece." Then he turned and walked away. His men followed him, one by one.

Heather looked into Guy's eyes and saw a strange fire burning in their blue depth. She smiled gently and caressed his pale face, tracing a finger over an eyebrow, down his cheek, then his lips.

„Ask me again," she whispered. Her heart was beating wildly.

Guy raised his eyebrow in surprise. Then he understood.

„Marry me," he said in his deep, velvet voice and Heather smiled with the joy she once believed would be lost forever.

„Yes," she breathed. And all her heart was in her eyes.

 **THE END**


End file.
